WHN to Check, Mate and Murder
by Swissmounty
Summary: Some co-writers developed their ideas about the future of Jeanine and Robert Duvalier and their relationship to Ironside. Here is my variant. The story is set in January 1971.
1. Chapter 1

WHN to "Check, Mate and Murder"

Set January 1971

 _Some co-writers developed their ideas about the future of Jeanine and Robert Duvalier and their relationship to Ironside. Here is my variant._

 **Chapter 1**

"Chief Ironside's office, Sergeant Brown speaking."

It was the routine answer heard a hundred times in this office.

Ironside was moving towards the kitchen to start cooking some chili, but when he didn't hear anything further he turned around. The expression on his right-hand man's face was one of shock. Why in blazes didn't he push the loudspeaker button if the call was so important?!

Ed covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Sir!" He licked his lips as if they were too dry to speak. "Sir – I'm afraid something happened. Could you answer, please?"

"Who is it?" asked the Chief, his voice raspy from worry.

"Jeanine Duvalier."

Meanwhile Ironside had reached the table. Not too gently he pulled the receiver from Ed's hand. He heard the voice of a sobbing woman.

Right now Brown heard the door open. It had to be Eve. The Chief needed some privacy now. Therefore Ed jumped up and sprinted up the ramp to stop his colleague.

Eve ran literally into him. It felt like hitting a brick wall. The Sergeant's lean body was all tensed up. "Ouch! Ed, what..."

Quickly Brown steered her back into the hallway and closed the door behind them. She looked up into his pale, stony face and understood that something must have upset him; and it took quite a lot to upset Sgt. Brown. Gently she laid her hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter with you, Ed?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. But the Chief is on the phone. It's Jeanine Duvalier. Her son died."*

"Robert? He was at university, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was."

Duvalier had gone to a private university in Québec City. "And the Chief encouraged him to join the martial arts team. It appears that there was some kind of accident during a workout."

Slowly the news sunk into Eve's mind and she started to understand. "It's not the Chief's fault!"

"Of course not. But he'll still feel guilty."

Eve nodded.

* * *

"Ed! Where in blazes are you?!"

Obviously the call had come to an end.

The two young detectives entered the office together.

"Chief?" asked Eve sympathetically.

"Mrs. Duvalier will come here. She needs some support right now. And now let's get to work, this is no holiday!"

His voice sounded as factual and commanding as ever, but he couldn't even fool himself this time, and far less his friends. He didn't care if this was a holiday or not. He just needed something to do to calm down.

Technically he was right of course, as always. They were working on something which was hardly their 'standard' case – but then, what exactly was ever 'standard' in this office?

There was something going on in the drug scene.  
Trading had increased dramatically, but the police had not been able to find out why and how. The Commissioner had decided that a thorough investigation had to take place. Now the narcotics squad was collecting a huge amount of information about every known drug dealer. Telephones were tapped. Police officers went under cover. Drug addicts were questioned. Nowadays it was no problem to get enough information – on the contrary: there was too much information, and nobody had any idea about how exactly it had to be handled. Therefore Ironside and his team were asked to take the lead. For two weeks now they had been reading hundreds of files, listening to tapes, comparing pictures, discussing possibilities.

Oh, they had found some connections all right. Again and again Ironside had forced his people into looking closely, had kept repeating the important questions, and they were getting on nicely... or at least that's what they were hoping. But it was not enough.

It had become obvious that emigrants from Colombia had been forced into smuggling drugs into the United States. But of course it was no use punishing them. There had to be some kind of mastermind behind the entire organization, a mob boss or maybe an entire family. This was the person or the persons they had to find – and then get convicted, which was another matter yet. As long as they could not do that, hundreds or thousands of young people might get addicted to the seductive poison.

* * *

Jeanine arrived the next day.  
Mark had picked her up at the airport and then gone to law school.  
Eve and Ed were working downstairs.

She looked the same as in Canada – and yet very different. Her frail beauty was pronounced by her mourning clothes. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed her grief.

Ironside felt deeply touched. It was him who had encouraged her son to join the martial arts team. If he hadn't done that, then Robert would most probably still be alive. It was a vote of confidence and forgiveness that Jeanine had come here all the same.

There seemed to be no fitting words to comfort her. Instead of saying something which might hurt her or something sounding superficial Ironside just took her hand and squeezed it very gently.

Tears started to run freely on her face.

"You are all I have left now, Robert," she said, breaking down in his arms.

The wall of her self-restraint collapsed and she started to sob helplessly.

Ironside understood her so well. What he was feeling wasn't just pity. It was a deep feeling of suffering with her. He had lost his wife, and he had lost the mobility of his legs. He knew what grief felt like.

He was just there for her, for a very, very long time. She needed it and he felt that it was the least he could do.

Letting it all out left her completely drained.  
Finally Ironside picked her up with his strong arms and lifted her onto his knees like a child, while she clung to his neck.  
Not without difficulties he maneuvered his wheelchair with the precious cargo to Mark's room. He helped her settle down on Mark's bed, fully dressed, covering her with Mark's blanket.

"Take your time, Jeanine. When you're up to it we can have something to eat. Just try to relax now."

Of course Mark agreed to sleep on the couch while Jeanine used his room. His dark eyes were clouded with worry – not only about their female guest, but also for his boss.

Ironside pointed out that it was no bother but a joy to have her in San Francisco, and that had nothing to do with her starting to make coffee for the team – which was a huge progress – and even eventually preparing a wonderful dinner for everybody.

With more patience than anybody would have expected him to be capable of he tried to help Mrs. Duvalier to overcome her loss. There were visits to museums, long walks together, dinners in his favorite restaurants. What he had hoped for twenty years ago slowly came into being: they got closer every day.

One evening on the beach he took her hand in his.

"Jeanine – please, please tell me. I need to know the truth. Was or wasn't Robert my son?"

* * *

 _*Author's note:  
In my universe Robert Duvalier didn't join the police. It's not mentioned in the episode what he would do later on._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Jeanine – please, please tell me. I need to know the truth. Was or wasn't Robert my son?"

"Think of it – he could not be. But I loved him, and I loved you, that's why I christened him Robert."

Deep inside he knew that she was telling the truth.

She had been engaged to Duvalier back in the fifties. After that she had fallen in love with him, and only then had she noticed that she was pregnant.

If Robert had been Robert Ironside's son, then she would have married Ironside, who was without any doubt her great love at that time. It would have been much easier and less risky to break her engagement to Duvalier than to place a cuckoo's egg into Duvalier's nest.

On the other hand if Robert was Duvalier's son, she could either confess to Robert Ironside that she was pregnant with another man's child – which she chose not to do because she was too proud – or she could go back to her fiancé, which she finally did. It was only too logical.

"You told a lie out of pride and I accepted it without question," resumed Ironside. It was exactly what he had said to her as a farewell in Canada. He was still sad about it.

But now she was here. She needed him. He had to be there for her.

Knowing that she was telling the truth was actually more important to him than knowing whose son Robert was. Now he knew both.

* * *

The team worked long hours on the drug case. Ironside's sharp intellect was in no way slowed down by his visitor, but he let Ed and Eve take more and more responsibilities. They knew the ropes. They had worked with him long enough to carry them.

There were the Romans and the Monigattis, two mob families who together ran a big part of the organized crime in San Francisco. Their files got thicker with every day going by. They had the international network necessary to perform such a crime. Jack Dubin on the other hand was a cold gangster who ran his business with an iron fist. Then there was a newcomer, Joey Martinique. Where else would anambitious crook try to get his money but in the drug trade? Slowly but surely Ironside managed to create a net of information which would sooner or later catch the real culprits.

Ironside's friends carried more than their fair share of Ironside's work now, and in the beginning they all did it willingly. Yet as time went by their overworked nerves started to wear thin.

One morning, when Ed entered the office, Mark seemed to be almost as grouchy as the Chief in his worst times. "She's a dragon!"

Ed knew that Mark had sacrificed a lot over the last couple of weeks. Not only his bed, but also his privacy, his possibility to retire and learn and most of his rare spare time. There was no doubt about whom he was calling a dragon.

Nevertheless Ed appealed to his compassion. "Jeanine has just lost her son. I can't speak from experience, but I'm told that this is the worst that can happen to someone: losing a child. We have to be patient."

He knew that losing a fiancée was bad enough. He'd almost despaired about it. But it also made him sympathetic toward Jeanine.

"That was three weeks ago. Hey, you went to college! I thought you took some psychology classes there as well. The acute phase of a traumatic experience is long over after three weeks," Mark lectured. "She's a nasty little thing, that's all."

The Sergeant shook his head gently, not in denial, but to try and think of a suitable answer. Mark was probably too tired – and maybe also too young - to understand how deep mourning felt. "I understand that you are beat with law school and everything you have to do here. Probably you don't sleep much on this sofa either. Why don't you get a good night's rest in my bed? I can sleep on my couch for once."

"You don't expect Mrs. Duvalier to help the Chief get undressed, do you?"

Ironside was perfectly capable of undressing himself, but there was more to do of course. Mark didn't want to leave his boss alone.

"You have a point there. Ok, I'll stay here for you."

Mark patted him on the back with considerable verve. "Thanks, brother. And then see for yourself."

* * *

Eve was a fast reader. She found an important link. "Chief, look at that! Jack Dubin has paid a tremendous amount of income taxes for _legal_ businesses."

Ironside almost praised her, although not quite. "Obviously he doesn't want to end up like Al Capone. You are right not to trust him."

"So you agree that he might be laundering money?"

"As far as I would expect he's no keener on paying taxes than anyone else. He's not exactly known as being a benefactor of mankind."

"So it _could_ be drug money from this wave of crimes, I guess."

"We don't guess, Eve. We prove!"

* * *

Mark stepped out of the elevator. He was about to open the door to Ironside's office/apartment, which he considered also his home, even though he had lived at Ed's apartment for the past three days now.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that someone was sitting on the steps leading downstairs.

"Ed?! What in blazes are you doing here?"

"Nothing."

"That's what it looks like."

He took a closer look at his friend. The usually fit and collected detective was pale and his skin looked too tight, letting his cheekbones stand out.

"Hey, what's the matter, man?" he asked bluntly and sat down at his side.

Somberly Ed answered, "You were right. She's a dragon. She... she is robbing him of his heart."

Same as Ed a few days earlier Mark knew exactly whom his friend was talking about. "Of course she's a dragon. I told you she was. But the other thing is called ' _losing_ one's heart' – and that's what happened to the Chief. But being the Chief he will retrieve it soon, I suppose."

"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. "Right now she's talking a bad conscience into him. He's too much of a gentleman to fight back."

"Look who's talking!" teased Mark, hoping to pull his friend out of his lethargy.

Ed wasn't aware of the fact that he would probably have reacted the same way – actually he _had_ reacted the same way at first: far too patiently – because he was basically the same kind of man as the Chief.

"Plus she was rude towards Eve." Ed could easily ignore any injustice towards himself, like her reproaches that he didn't do enough housework, while he was trying to do police work eighteen hours a day. This drug case got far too much attention in the media for his liking, and Ironside spent much of his time with Jeanine. Ed gladly helped out, and he didn't feel offended by Jeanine's reproaches – or only a little - even though he could not see where to find the time to comply with her wishes. But Eve was a different matter. She had to be protected! Jeanine had insinuated, in a roundabout way, but still unmistakably, that Eve was jealous of her; that Eve wanted to be the only woman in Ironside's life.

Mark shrugged his shoulders. "Don't you worry about Eve. She can take care of herself!"

Ed would always worry about Eve, but he could not tell that to Mark of course.

"Look, you can't rob Chief Ironside of anything that easily, least of all his heart," Mark went on, punching Ed's shoulder amicably. "Give him some time. He will see through her sooner or later – maybe he already has – and he will put her in her place in his own time."

Ed took a deep breath. "Maybe you are right."  
Sometimes Mark was wiser than himself, he thought. Maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Another day later Ed had to help narcotics with a stakeout. They hoped to catch one of the Romans who was a big number within the drug cartel anyway. But either he had got wind of the trap or the suspect wasn't the one responsible in this case. Maybe the Romans were innocent altogether. At any rate the fish escaped. Disappointed, tired and hungry Brown entered the office around midnight.

The lights were still on, which wasn't out of the ordinary though. Nevertheless he sensed immediately that something was wrong. A smell of vomit hung in the air.

Alarmed he hurried down the ramp.

Ironside was lying on the ground, halfway out of the bathroom! Jeanine was cowering at his side, a glass in her hands.

Clumsily Ironside tried to push her away, but somehow he missed her, as if he were drunk.

Ed rushed to him, kneeling down. Jeanine recoiled.

"What happened?" asked the Sergeant, hoping that the Chief would answer.

Jeanine did though. "He got a terrible headache. I wanted to get him an Aspirin, but there was none left. I went to the pharmacy to get some. When I came back he was lying here."

Headache – sickness – but that didn't explain why his boss was lying on the ground.

"Howmuch did he have to drink?" If there was someone who could hold his liquor, it was the Chief.

"Not enough to explain this."

Ironside tried to say something, but they didn't understand him.

Ed thought of a heart attack. "Do you have any pain in the chest, Chief?"

"No." He tried to move his hand to his head but failed.

"What did you have for dinner?" This time Ed addressed Jeanine.

"Potato gratin, fish and vegetables."

 _Fish._ That could be it: food poisoning. Salmonella. Maybe even botulism.

He took a close look at Ironside's face. "Excuse me, Sir," he mumbled, embarrassed. But it had to be done. Very gently he pulled one of the drooping eyelids up. The pupils were too large and not moving.

"We need the rests of the meal!" he said, and his voice sounded almost as brusque as his boss' sometimes.

Too shaken to say a word about his suspicion he stood up and hurried to the table.

"I threw them away," answered Jeanine.

"Then pick them out of the garbage can!"

Quickly Ed ordered an ambulance.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Jeanine was chopping a little piece off a fish.

"We need _all_ of it, all there is left!"

Obviously she was too confused to be helpful. "Let me do that. Get a blanket for him."

After a quick check on Ironside, whose condition was unchanged, he called Mark at his apartment.

"Hey, I wasn't sleeping! I have some work to do..."

"I need you. Meet me at General Hospital. You have to guard Mrs. Duvalier."

He couldn't leave her here. She might start showing the same symptoms as the Chief any minute. And since it was the Chief who was intoxicated, there was always the possibility of a murder attempt to be considered.

"Is she sick?" Mark was too tired to hear the urgency in Ed's voice.

"No, but the Chief is."

"On my way!" Of course Mark was wide awake now and ready to drop everything.

Ed picked whatever leftovers he could find out of the garbage can and put them into an evidence bag.

He went back to Ironside. "Sir – can you tell me why you fell?"

Ironside tried hard and managed to slur, "Dizzy. What...?"

"It might be botulism."

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Jeanine. "That can't be!"

Bemused Ed looked up at her. "Why not?"

"Botulism... I... I don't know. I rather thought of salmonella. What can be done for Robert?"

"I think doctors have an antitoxin... irrigation of the stomach... I don't know, I'm no medic. He may need artificial respiration. I want you to stay in the hospital for observation, since you had the same meal."

Unexpectedly she covered her face with her hands and started to cry.

Was she afraid of the hospital? Did she only now realize that she might be intoxicated as well?

"You are in no danger, Ma'am. When you feel the first symptoms, you call a doctor and nothing will happen."

It was the Chief he was worried about. The antitoxin only helped if given at an early stage, if he remembered well. Where in blue blazes was that ambulance?!

Not much later the paramedics walked in with a gurney. Expert hands examined the Chief and provided him with oxygen. With Ed's help they heaved his body onto the stretcher. For Ed it was heartbreaking to see his strong mentor like this: weak, helpless, gasping for air and in obvious pain. He would gladly have changed places with him.

Jeanine wandered around aimlessly, murmuring excuses and declarations of love, which Ed found rather out of place right now.

He gave the paramedics the evidence bag with the leftovers of the dinner. They would know what to do with them.

When the ambulance had left Ed asked Jeanine to pack a few clothes and a toilet bag. Then he took her to General Hospital as well, making sure that she got a room as close to the intensive care unit as possible. By now, she had become apathetic and let indifferently everything happen with her.

Mark was expecting them with an anxious expression on his face. Ed gave him a short account of what he knew about this night's events.

They were told that they couldn't do anything for their boss right now. His condition was stable, but guarded.

They debated whether they should inform Eve. She would want to know. On the other hand there was nothing she could do either, now, in the middle of the night. Therefore they could as well let her sleep.

They decided that Mark would remain in front of Jeanine's room to make sure that whoever had made an attempt on Ironside's life – if somebody had done that – would not have a chance to kill her instead. Ed hung around ICU all night, but couldn't get near the man he admired so much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The next day, Ed and Eve had to work on the drug case they were assigned to, although they wanted nothing more than to help their boss... anyhow. But Ironside would expect them to go on with their work, and so would the Commissioner. He'd had a slight case of food poisoning himself two months ago; therefore he was under the impression that Ironside had more or less just an upset stomach.

"Does he have a heart at all?" wondered Eve angrily when Randall made clear that they could not afford losing time with frequent visits to the hospital. "Isn't he supposed to be the Chief's _friend_?" She was worried and protective about Ironside and therefore in no shape to be very empathetic towards the Commissioner.

"I suppose he is," answered Ed tiredly. "He just doesn't want to discuss personal matters with us. In his noble world view Commissioners and Chiefs have not much in common with little detectives - particularly little sergeants," he added bitterly. Eve was a Whitfield, one of _those_ Whitfields. Maybe there was some kind of place for her in the Commissioner's picture, but not for him and Mark, that was for sure.

Mark looked thoughtfully at his friends. He had got to know them quite well over the years. Eve wasn't afraid of the Commissioner – she belonged to a social class which didn't ever feel inferior to others. She could easily criticize him, at least behind his back. Ed's pessimism however was caused by his exhaustion. He was basically right of course – for years the Commissioner seemed to have an aversion against him and Mark, if only because he could not get the upper hand on Ironside. But normally Ed would not have let that get to him. He would set out to prove the older man wrong, and actually Randall's opinion of them had changed quite a bit over the last years. The problem wasn't Randall. The problem was that Ed, who didn't have too much self-esteem anyway and who was drained now, was responsible for the work on the high-profile drug case and moreover for the investigation of the attempt on Ironside's life.  
But then – that's what he had friends for. Mark - and Eve as well - would do their best to help the sergeant.

Randall had no legal authority over Mark. Therefore he installed himself in front of Jeanine's room for the time being. Cross-legged and provided with a large supply of books he studied law and made sure that nothing happened to Jeanine. Sometimes his head sunk down onto his knees for a minute or two – he had been up all night after all – but nobody would have managed to get into that hospital room or out of it without him noticing it.

Eve was still hard on Jack Dubin's heels. Ed had to follow the leads the colleagues from narcotics had found about Joey Martinique. They had proof of him placing a remarkable number of long-distance calls. Was this a hint that he was the one who delivered the drugs to Europe and Canada?

During official working hours Ed and Eve mostly did what they were expected to do – although they weren't as efficient as usual. Over lunch break they drove to the hospital, not only to try to get to the Chief, but also to relieve Mark for a few minutes.

In the underground car park Ed held his step.

"Anything wrong, Ed?"

He politely opened the passenger door of his car for Eve but discreetly pointed over his shoulder with his head. "See the blue Thunderbird?"

She slipped into the car. "Yes, what's the matter with it?"

Ed walked around the car and took the wheel. "The man inside, that's one of the Monigattis' goons."

"Are you positive that you are not starting to see ghosts?"

"This is no ghost, that's for sure. We'll have to keep a close eye on the Monigattis as well."

* * *

For Ironside, the day passed in a haze. He didn't really feel his body, although there was some vague sensation of pain. With time going by he started to feel restricted and locked in. He could not breathe alone, could not move, could not communicate. Sometimes it seemed to him as if one of his friends were nearby, peeking through the glass door, but the next moment he or she was gone. It seemed as if every decision was taken from him, and it made him more uneasy by the hour – and finally downright angry. He was used to taking his own decisions! He was no prisoner, was he? Then why wasn't he his own lord and master? Yet dizziness overtook him again before he could start a proper investigation of his own state and surroundings.

* * *

It was after 11pm when Ironside finally didn't need the artificial respiration anymore and medication was reduced to a level that he could actually be called conscious. He was moved to a room on his own – according to Sgt. Brown's suggestion the one adjoining to Jeanine's.

During the afternoon his friends had tried to penetrate into ICU in alternation, whenever they could slip away from work, but weren't allowed anywhere near him. From what they saw through the glass door, his face had an unnatural grayish complexion, and even his eyes had lost their brightness. This wasn't the robust, poker-faced Chief they all knew and worshipped!

But now he was settled in his room he wanted to know the state of affairs.

Ed would have to take care of that. He didn't look forward to it, as happy as he was that Ironside was a little better.

"Where's Jeanine?"

"In the room next door. She doesn't show any signs of intoxication though."

"Is there someone for her protection?"

"Yes, one of us is at her door round the clock. At daytime it was mostly Mark, but now Eve is on duty."

"That's the reason why you wanted us to have adjoining rooms: To be able to keep an eye on me and Jeanine at the same time?"

"Yessir. You were poisoned after all."

"Could be accidental. But actually you are not afraid of an attack against Jeanine, are you?"

"No, Sir." Ed felt sussed out. It was impossible to let the Chief in the dark.

"You don't trust her," stated Ironside matter-of-factly.

The honest Sergeant looked away, but admitted, "No, Sir, I don't."

"You are angry at her. You suspect that she put some poison into my food!"

Ed took a deep breath. It was no use not to tell him the truth. "Only one fish was poisoned, the one which was almost finished. When I asked Mrs. Duvalier to put the leftovers into an evidence bag she only took a piece of the other one, where there was more left, and wanted to throw the rest away." The lab had admitted that they had been in an awful hurry to find out what had poisoned Ironside, but of course they had noticed _that_ much, Ed thought.

"Could still be coincidental."

"Could be."

Ironside felt how difficult it was for Ed to keep his voice neutral and hide his anger. "Then why guard her? To keep her from clearing out?"

Reluctantly Ed nodded.

"What about phone calls?"

"I gave the receptionist a tape recorder. Receptionists change every few hours. Every time I go by I ask the one on duty to tape every incoming and outgoing call for and from her."

Ironside grinned. "I suppose they are pissed off by now, or do you drop a red rose every time you go by?"

"A chocolate bar."

It made Ironside chuckle, but he turned serious quickly. His friend looked exhausted, but strung to breaking point. "Ed!"

"Yessir?"

"Sit down."

Reluctantly Brown picked up a chair. He managed not to collapse onto it.

"Sergeant, do you think that my judgment is clouded, as far as Jeanine is concerned?"

"Err - no, Sir!" Obviously this thought hadn't been too far away for him up to Ironside's question.

"Has it never occurred to you that she might be a victim herself?"

"A vi...? So you knew all along..."

"I didn't know that she might try to poison me, and I still don't know that, but I know that something _is_ wrong."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Sorry, Sir," mumbled Ed, embarrassed. "But you do believe that she tried..."

"What I believe is unimportant. But don't be sorry. Maybe I should have told you. I want all your measures in place, except that you get cops from the department as guards. Tell them I authorized that. I want _you_ to find out what is _really_ going on."

"Yessir." He sounded crestfallen. Probably he felt somehow guilty because he hadn't done that right away. Awkwardly he stood up and headed for the door.

Ironside had to keep him back. "Ed!"

"Sir?"

"Send Eve and Mark home and try to get a good night's rest yourself. _After_ getting a bite to eat, that is." His voice was now much softer, and immediately he noticed that his assistant could not handle his friendliness. Therefore he added grumpily, "I have no use for an overtired and starved staff."

Finally Ed seemed to relax a bit. This was the tone he was used to. "All right, I'll tell them."

"Night, Ed."

"Good night, Sir, and get well soon!"

* * *

When Eve walked into the office early the next morning she saw Sgt. Brown sitting at the octagonal table. His head was resting on his crossed arms on the table, in the middle of spread out papers, and he was obviously asleep. Gently she touched his shoulder. "Ed?"

He woke up with a start. "Oh! I'm sorry."

She was tempted to massage his neck but refrained from it. "There's nothing to be sorry for. But you are all stiff and half frozen." He had only been wearing a shirt. "How long have you been working?"

"Too long."

The door to Mark's room opened and the Afro-American came out, his hair still tousled. "And it was all for nothing," he guessed, refreshed after an undisturbed night.

"Not entirely," objected Ed guardedly.

Eve tried to read what he had scribbled on the papers lying around, but it didn't make much sense to her.

Ed rubbed his eyes with the ball of his thumb. "Is there any coffee left from yesterday?" he asked with little hope.

Eve wrinkled her nose, but Mark put the can with the old brew onto the stove.

It would serve the purpose to wake up the Sergeant. "I'll make some new when Ed has finished the old one. That way we'll have a chance to get some as well," he explained when she rolled her eyes.

"You should not underestimate my intellectual skills, dear Eve," he lectured. "I've done me some thinking, and not just about the perfect use of stale coffee."

With interest Ed looked up at him. "What are you talking about?"

"About aspirin."

Mark had his friends' full attention now, while the coffee in the pot started to boil.

"There were a couple left when I last had to get one for the Chief."

The detectives felt the unspoken accusation behind his words.

"Jeanine may have used some herself. Crying can cause headaches, and she's been crying a lot since she arrived here," objected Eve.

Ed shook his head slowly. "She went downtown each day. Would she have taken the last one – in a place which is not hers - and not buy a new box, while she had every opportunity to go to a pharmacy?"

It made Eve smile. "You would not do that, of course."

"Where's that box she got for the Chief on Thursday?" asked Ed.

"I saw it in the kitchen and put it away into the bathroom cabinet yesterday, where it belongs." Mark went to get it and handed it over to the Sergeant, who turned it around in his hands.

"She told me that she had gone to the drugstore on 1344 Stockton Street last night," said Ed thoughtfully. The label on the package read the same.

As if she didn't believe him Eve picked the box out of his hand. "That's not true!"

"What?" asked both men in unison, stunned.

"That pharmacy is closed on Thursdays!"

The three young people looked wordlessly at one another, trying to figure out what this meant.

"I needed something for my parents last week, on Thursday. That's why I remember it well."

"So she lied," stated Mark. "She must have bought the package earlier."

"Did she go out at all, or was this part invented as well?" Eve wondered.

"Yes, she most probably did," answered Ed. "I noticed that the van was wet when I parked beside it. It stroke me as odd since I knew that they had planned to have dinner in the office. She offered to cook dinner for the Chief and he said that he would not go out anyway because he wanted to hear the results of the stakeout immediately."

"So she went out - but where to and what for?"

"That's what we'll have to find out," summarized Ed. "What about that coffee you promised, Mark?"

As was to be expected the sergeant was the only one who craved the coffee badly enough to drink what was left after most of the water in the pot had evaporated.

"By the way - what is it _you_ found out?" Eve wanted to know.

"I tried to find out more about Robert Duvalier's death. He didn't die in an accident at his college, that much is for sure."

"He didn't?" That was Mark, because Eve stood there literally open-mouthed.

"No." The way Ed vocalized the word it had three syllables.

"On second thought – has Mrs. Duvalier ever said to anybody that he did? Maybe during that first phone call to you, Ed?"

"No – I suppose I just assumed it because of the way she talked about it," acknowledged Ed. "But then so did the Chief."

"What happened?" asked Eve impatiently.

"Robert was a good sportsman, but his other grades were pathetic."

"Hey, it's not like you to look down on somebody. Not everybody can be an eager beaver like Ed Brown!" protested Eve.

"And that he has inherited the Chief's Christian name doesn't make him a genius either," added Mark.

Ed showed them his notes. "Take a look. I got these from the director of the private 'Université Laval' in Quebec where he was studying." It sounded funny the way he pronounced the French name. Ed Brown wasn't good at foreign languages, and right now he didn't even take great care.

He was right though, these grades were inadequate.

"I got him out of bed at four am. He wasn't too thrilled. He said that Robert wasn't quite expelled from the university, but it was close. One day about a month ago Robert just didn't show up anymore."

"Jeanine must have known that!" exclaimed Mark. "Surely the university would have informed his mother that he disappeared." Somehow he was a tiny bit pleased because he had been the first one to see through her. Partly at least.

Ed reminded him of what Ironside had said about Jeanine – that he didn't trust her, but that she was maybe more victim than culprit.

"Let's go to the hospital and see if the Chief is awake. I'm sure he'll have some answers, or at least he will ask the right questions!" suggested Eve.

Quickly Ed emptied his cup. "Maybe there's some better coffee there."

Mark picked the bunch of keys out of the drawer of the desk _._ Then he stopped short.

"What's the matter?" asked Eve.

"Look at this!" He showed them a key which normally didn't belong to that bunch: It was the key to the narcotics storeroom. Ironside had one of these in custody, being the leading investigator for narcotics on their most important case over the last few weeks. The key's hole looked a little filthy. Ed grabbed a loupe and examined it thoroughly. "Could be wax."

They all knew what this might mean.

"Let's go!" said Mark, snatching the keys back out of Ed's hand and heading for the door.

* * *

They were not allowed to enter Ironside's room together. "Just one at a time! Mr. Ironside is still a very sick man," said a seasoned nurse sternly.

Mark pulled Eve's sleeve. "Let's go down to the cafeteria and have some coffee and a bite to eat."

Ed tried not to look annoyed at the prospect of missing the better coffee and opened the door.

Ironside needed just one single look to notice that his assistant hadn't followed his orders. "You could at least have shaven!"

By reflex Ed's hand moved to his chin, although he didn't need any proof that the Chief was right.

He decided that attack was the best defense. "We had some work to do."

He told his boss about Robert maybe not being dead, about the missing aspirin and about the wax on the key.

"Do you really believe that she could make up the kind of grief she showed when she came to us? You suspect Jeanine of lying about her son and arranging that entire incident, even poisoning me, just to copy that key? In that case she would want to use it. Theft of drugs – is that what you have in mind?"

The way he put it everything sounded exaggerated and implausible. Out of old habit – which he should have grown out of by now - Ed felt the need to pull back.

"Maybe she doesn't want to do it herself. We don't know how to connect her lie about Robert to this."

"Get Jeanine in here. I want to talk to her."

"Chief – they only let one person see you at a time. We don't know how she'll react." He didn't want to say what he thought – that she might hurt his weakened boss and fatherly friend.

Ironside saw through him anyway. "I don't need your pampering me!" he barked angrily.

"Sir, are you in pain?"

"No! Yes, I am. But what's that got to do with my not wanting to be pampered by you?!"

"Oh, nothing, Sir. Nothing at all." _Of course_ it had nothing to do with his being so grumpy...

In spite of the pain Ironside felt that Ed only meant well. He wanted to protect him. He cared for him – a lot.

But he knew Jeanine better than his assistant. She would not hurt him, not deliberately.

"Trust me, Ed," he said in a softer tone. "If it makes you feel better, leave your gun here. But I'm sure I won't need to use it."

Instantly Ed gave him his .38. "In the meantime I'm warning narcotics of a possible theft, right?"

"Give it a try. It may be too late though."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Jeanine Duvalier entered Ironside's room. It was now 36 hours since he had eaten the poisonous fish. As she hadn't shown any symptoms up to now, she would definitely not get sick for the same reason.

"Robert!"

Tears welled in her eyes as she approached his bed with outstretched arms to hug him. He stopped her with a friendly, but firm gesture.

"Jeanine, I need the truth now."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about aspirin which you bought in advance to give to me, while there was some left in the bathroom cabinet. About botulism, which isn't supposed to cause a headache in the first place. About your son Robert."

She covered her face with her hands and started to cry.

For a few minutes he waited patiently, then he said, "Now you have cried enough. That does not help us further. Tell me everything."

"I didn't want to hurt you, never in my life!" she exclaimed. "He told me that I had to put that powder onto your fish. It would cause a headache, giving me a reason to get some aspirin, and it would upset your stomach to make it look like salmonella. I thought that you could deal with a lot of salmonella. I didn't know it was botulinum toxin!"

"You needed a pretense. Instead of the drugstore you went to a key duplicator."

She sighed. "I had to take the key to a rendezvous point. I had to put it down and was told not to turn around. Someone must have made a wax impression of it. He spoke with a strange accent. That's all I can tell you about him."

Ironside nodded. The newspapers had spread all over that he and his team were working on that flaming drug case. It hadn't been difficult to figure out that he would have a key to the drug storeroom.

"Who is 'him'?"

"I don't know!"

"Robert isn't dead, is he?"

She started to cry harder again. "It may be even worse!"

He gave her some time until she was able to talk on.

"What about starting at the beginning?"

She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. "Robert was abducted!"

Ironside could not decide if he was relieved or angry about this piece of news.

"I got a message saying that I had to travel to you and then stay with you and wait for further instructions. I had to call a number every day, that's why I went to town so often. A man told me what I had to do – give him information about the drug case, buy the aspirin, get the little bag with the poison in a post office box, cook dinner for you and so on. He threatened to kill Robert if I did not comply or if I told anybody about it."

Again she hadn't trusted him, thought the detective. Whenever one of his young friends was in trouble, they came to him, convinced that he would find a way to help them. Jeanine didn't have this kind of trust in him – if any. It had been their basic problem from the beginning.

He didn't want to talk about this now. There were more urgent problems to solve, and he felt his strength dissipate.

"Can you tell me anything about the person you talked to?"

"It was a man with an accent too, probably the same one who copied the key."

"Give me that phone number."

She picked a small piece of paper out of her purse.

"Call my friends outside, if they are there, or tell the officer on watch to look for them, but don't go away."

Eve and Mark had been waiting in the hallway, and Ed was just turning the corner when Jeanine opened the door. Ironside saw them through the gap.

Disrespecting doctor's orders he called them in. With a very bad conscience the trio entered.

"Any news, Ed?" Ironside asked his assistant, having a foreboding of trouble.

"You were right, Sir. Someone was in the drug storeroom last night. Drugs of half a million dollars' worth are missing. No signs of break-in."

Mark whistled through his teeth.

Ironside nodded. "They don't bother with peanuts."

He had spent himself too much, and now fatigue threatened to overwhelm him.

"Eve, take Jeanine home, will you? Stay with her. Mark - you go to your classes. Ed – you..."

"I'll take care of the cases, and you take care of yourself, Sir."

Ironside handed him the phone number. "Jeanine will explain everything to you."

His voice had become weaker with every word. The three friends were very worried.

"Please, Chief, you have to rest now!" urged Eve, expressing what everybody felt.

It was very hard – next to impossible - for the strong man to admit that they were right. One last look at his team helped him to let go though. Yes, they had learned a lot over the past years. He wanted to trust their abilities to handle the situation.

They left together. At least Jeanine was composed enough to give Ed the information he needed.

* * *

The phone number turned out to be a phone booth in Cheney Street.

Ed drove there for a very thorough examination of the booth and its surroundings.

Around a tree right next to it he found about a dozen cigarette ends – _hash_ cigarettes. Reminiscences came to mind: the Chief in St. Mary's hospital, having exploratory surgery; the hope that he might be able to walk again; the attempts on his life. A nurse waiting and smoking. The cigarettes had betrayed her. Sergeant Brown - maybe not the most imaginative cop of San Francisco, but at least his memory was intact, thought Ed self-mockingly.  
Probably the man who had answered Jeanine's phone calls would have waited for the phone to ring. Could he have been the one throwing these cigarette butts away?

Maybe. They were all grinded though. No chance of fingerprints. No lipstick this time. No telltale traces.

Ed threw a look around. A man standing around waiting for an incoming call might have attracted somebody's attention. A window on the second floor of the bluish house behind the tree was open. Maybe behind that window lived someone who wasn't afraid of the chilly January air – someone who liked leaving their windows open? Someone who had seen or heard something?

He read the name on the door bell of the house: Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Carruthers.

He rang the bell. An elderly, distinguished-looking man with horn-rimmed glasses opened the door.

"Sgt. Brown, SFPD."

Carruthers wasn't a man with a bad conscience. "Come in, Sergeant. What can I do for you?"

Carruthers explained that he worked as a music professor. He was normally out during the day. "Let's ask my wife Celia. She may be able to help you."

He led Ed up to a slightly old-fashioned, but tastefully furnished living-room.

A frail looking lady probably in her early sixties was sitting on the couch. She was wearing dark sunglasses, although the sun wasn't shining into the room. "Take a seat, young man. Have at least a cup of coffee with us. You need it."

For a second Ed was unsettled, then he realized that his witness was blind. But how had she guessed that he was tired and hungry?!

She smiled, again guessing his thoughts. "I can feel that you are a tall, slender young man; your steps should be energetic and lively in mid-day. The way they sound I'd say you haven't slept and eaten properly in a long time, and something is weighing you down. Am I right?" Her face was friendly and her voice sympathetic.

Maybe she was a good witness after all.

Gratefully Ed sat down and nipped from the proffered china cup filled with coffee. It was something entirely different from what they usually had in the office.

Finally he straightened up and asked Mrs. Carruthers if she had noticed anything special. Obviously her being blind had sharpened her other senses.

Mrs. Carruthers was a little excited to be involved in a police investigation. She remembered someone whistling Viennese music, every day around three pm. "It was Strauss mostly. I don't know if this is important or not. At any rate I found that very strange. Usually older people don't whistle that much and younger ones don't like that kind of music. But for some time now – more than two weeks – I heard it every day. I was almost expecting the nice musician. Yesterday and today they didn't whistle though."

Even tired as Ed was it rang a bell. Somewhere in the hundreds of files he had read in connection with that nasty drug case there had been one about an Austrian music student involved in drug deals. His name was Bittner... Fritz, no... Franz Bittner. He was not much more than an errand boy. A music student might be whistling classical music and particularly music of his hometown, thought Ed.

He thanked the friendly couple and left.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

For a minute he leaned on his car, the door open.  
If he started to nose around in the drug scene just like that – would he interfere with the actual investigation? On the other hand – catching a possible middleman involved in the murder attempt on Ironside was as good an angle to get on as any.  
The sergeant decided to ring Ironside at the hospital.

"Could you please connect me with Chief Ironside? It's very urgent."  
He knew that there was a phone at the station.

He heard the receptionist whisper to another person, "This is the nice young man with the chocolate. We have never been able to help him, no calls in, no calls out. Don't you think we could allow an exception...?"

Then a very loud, commanding voice, "What are you thinking?! Mr. Ironside is still a very sick man. He mustn't be disturbed. Give me that phone!"

It was no use. Ed was on his own.  
What would the Chief do?

He would not just sit there and wait, that was for sure.

Ed slipped behind the wheel of his car and headed for the 'Psychedelic Parrot'. It was a more than dubious bar where he knew that Bittner fellow liked to stay.

The bouncer, a typical tall, square-shouldered example of his species, recognized him. "We're closed!" he said and tried to pull the door shut.  
But Ed's foot was quicker.

"Not for me."

Grudgingly the giant reopened the door. "Boss, Ironside's right-hand pig wants to talk to you," he shouted over his shoulder.

A fat middle-aged man waddled over. "You need a search warrant, you know that!"

"I don't want anything from you – not today, anyway."

Ed didn't even try to hide his anger at this man and his 'restaurant'. He helped destroy the lives of hundreds of teenagers. But if the police closed the "Parrot", then the drug pushing would go on somewhere else. They had to find the wholesale dealers, the gangster bosses in the background.

"Right now I'm interested in one of your customers. About six feet tall, slender, early twenties, blonde, Austrian music student."

Biggs seemed to consider his possibilities. This was Ironside's man. He could get a search warrant in no time. It wasn't worth the trouble.

"You mean Franz something. 63 Downey Street. He's rented a small apartment there."

Ed turned around and left without a greeting.

* * *

63 Downey wasn't far away. When Ed got out of the car he felt a slight wave of dizziness – probably from lack of sleep or food or both; nothing to keep him from investigating who wanted to harm the Chief! He shook his head and managed to decipher the names on the doorbell panels. This was the right address indeed.

The entrance door was unlocked. Ed entered a gloomy staircase. After the first two steps he stumbled over something lying on the ground. He hit his left knee on the stairs and bumped into the wall to his left with quite a bang. The sudden sharp pain made him grit his teeth, but the adrenaline woke him up instantly. With an effort he picked himself up – and looked into the barrel of a gun.

"Hold it right there!" said a high-pitched voice with a strange accent. It belonged to a young man with a baby face under an unkempt mop of blonde hair – matching the picture in the file Ed had read.

Ok, this was some kind of progress, he thought, and it would have been funny, had it not been so annoying. He rubbed his knee. People with a clean conscience usually didn't point their guns at their visitors.

"Sgt. Brown, San Francisco police," he introduced himself for the sake of completeness. "Mr. Bittner?"  
Maybe Bittner was just afraid of intruders.

"Take one step upwards and I'll shoot!" threatened the young man. Tooth decay hinted at continuous drug abuse.

The last trace of sleepiness had dissipated.  
Demonstratively Ed rubbed his chin. "So you want to have a talk with me on this stairs?" he asked innocently.

"I don't want to talk to you at all!"

"That's too bad, because I _have_ to talk to you."  
By way of trial he set his left foot onto the next stair. The leg carried his weight.

"Stay where you are, or..."

"Yeah, I know, you'll shoot. Oh, come on. You are no criminal."

Ed used Bittner's surprise to take another step.

"You ran out of money, I suppose." Next step.

"What easier way to earn some than playing errand boy for some drug pushers, am I right?"

"You can't prove a thing to me!"

Two more steps, while Bittner was still unsure if he should shoot or not.

"Up to now you can get away lightly. Don't do anything silly now!"

"No! You don't understand anything at all!" Bittner shouted and pulled the trigger.

Fortunately he seemed to have no idea of how to handle a weapon, or else he could not have missed at such a close range. But he was in a panic, which meant that he was dangerous.

Ed took a racing dive at his legs, and both men landed in a heap on the stairs.

Since the police officer knew what to expect he recovered much quicker from the fall. He knocked the weapon out of Bittner's hand.

Before the Austrian knew what was happening he found himself handcuffed.

Dusting his pants Ed straightened up.  
"You could have made this easier for both of us," he said reproachfully. "Look, I know that you are no big number, so don't make things worse for yourself now. But a man was almost killed, and you were involved. Now we need some information from you."

"I owe them some money. They threatened to kill me if I didn't do what they said! They still will! I didn't mean to do any harm to anybody!"

Silly kid. Criminally stupid. "They won't kill you, we'll see to it. Will you keep quiet in my car?"

Bittner had learned his lesson. He wouldn't risk another fight with this police officer, not even in a sober state, which was not his current one...

* * *

Ed decided that he had neither the time nor the patience to take Bittner to headquarters and let him go through all the police procedures right now. He wanted Ironside to grill him. At the hospital he opened Bittner's handcuffs to be more discreet.

For once he was lucky. No woman or man in a white coat was hanging around in the hallway to Ironside's room. He felt that he would not be able to stomach a refusal right now. This could be their breakthrough, and it didn't admit any delay.

To his great relief the Chief looked much better now.

Ironside on the other hand read his sergeant's stony face and stiff posture well for what they were: signs of exhaustion. Therefore he took the initiative as soon as the door was closed behind the two young men.

"Who's that?"

"Franz Bittner, music student, hash smoker and accomplice to the murder attempt on you."  
In short words Brown explained what he had found out – leaving out the stumbling part - and presented the evidence bag with the cigarette butts.

Bittner made quite an effort to look defiantly, although he felt like caught between two rocks – the big man in the bed and the tall, stubborn sergeant. "You have no proof of anything!"

"What about that shot you took at a police officer?" asked Ironside acerbically. "And what about the cigarette butts? I'm sure we'll find traces of your saliva on them." That was rather unlikely after they had been trodden and lied outside for days, but a little bluffing couldn't hurt.

It worked.

Even sitting in a hospital bed the famous detective had an overpowering presence. Bittner broke down.

"What could I do? They sold me the drugs cheap. As soon as I was hooked the prices went up. They told me that it was easy to get the stuff for free: Each time I flew home to Austria I had to smuggle some packages to Vienna. They even paid for the tickets. I thought I might get away from them, just not come back to the States, but there was a guy expecting me at the airport. He stayed with me until I flew back. I didn't even get to see my family. No chance of an escape."

Probably the drug bosses had used this system with other students, and it worked well. It explained the increase of the drug traffic.

"And how come you gave instructions to Mrs. Duvalier, and the poison which was supposed to kill me?"

Bittner gasped for breath. This man knew everything! It was no use lying. "I needed more, and stronger stuff. LSD, marijuana, heroin, I've tried them all. The costs were higher – I had to do more."

"Who was your contact here in San Francisco?" the Chief wanted to know.

"I had to call him Mr. Miller. Probably it wasn't his real name."

"Describe him!"

"5ft 11, 180 pounds... a disgusting type."

"Age, color of hair, particular characteristics?" Ironside inquired impatiently.

"Dark hair. About 35, I suppose. Ah, and he had a crippled index finger."

If possible, the Chief was now even more alert. "You don't think it was his middle finger?"

"Oh, yes. Probably rather that."

Ironside saw his friend raise an eyebrow. "Sergeant, have the officers out there book him!"

"Just a moment! I told you everything! What happens now?!" protested Bittner.

"You'll find out," answered Ironside coldly. He wasn't particularly mild-mannered toward a man who had assisted in a murder attempt on him, even though it had not been successful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

When Ed came back the two men glanced at each other for a fraction of a second. Brown eyes met blue ones, and their expressions were peculiarly similar.

Ed detected in his master's eyes a hint of pain, probably caused by the previous effort. Immediately he felt guilty. He should have known better than to burden the ailing man with a criminal investigation! He needed time to recover. But would he want that Ed talked about it? He hated any "pampering", as he called it. He was a brave man, and he liked to hide his suffering behind his poker face, as if he would want to avoid any compassion.

"Sir...," Ed started hesitantly therefore.

Ironside noticed the fatigue in his young friend's eyes. A tear adorned his normally neat pants at one knee. The man hadn't slept since the poisoning, and he was beating himself up to get done everything that he considered to be his duty. "Ed, what's the matter with you? _My_ sergeant should be able to beat such a pitiful figure before breakfast and without taking his hands out of his pockets!"

As a matter of fact... it had been before breakfast. It still was, although it was 5 pm. "Then maybe I should have left my hands in my pockets," answered Ed, without going into details.

Ironside snorted, amused. Ed was right to joke about it, he thought. There was no time for weaknesses. He could sleep later. "The contact has to be Luigi Accola, Mario Monigatti's right-hand man."

Ed nodded. Mario Monigatti was the head of the Monigatti clan. "It's pretty obvious."

"Then prove it!" His voice sounded a tad harsher than intended. "Now you know what you have to look for," he added calmer.

"So they used poor immigrants to smuggle the drugs into our country and addicted students to get them out of here. But what about Mrs. Duvalier and the murder attempt on you? And the drug theft?" asked Ed.

Maybe they had felt that Ironside was getting too close to the truth.

"Maybe they wanted to kill two birds with one stone: Eliminate me and get half a million's worth of drugs in one go."

He thought about the modus operandi.

"Tell narcotics to concentrate the background checks and collecting of information on the Monigattis now: Money laundering, taxes not paid, international flights. I want the reports of the monitored telephones to be checked again. And have Eve check every connection to Canada she can find. Have the most important members of the family monitored."

* * *

Ironside had been right to trust Eve with the most important part of the investigation. She was the best person for the job: alert, keen on finding a link and – unlike her colleague - fully awake.

"Ed, I think I have something!" she called out at 8 pm. Quickly she dialed the hospital's number. Meanwhile the Chief had insisted on getting a phone at his bedside. Ed would hear what she had to say at the same time.

"Chief, different persons of the Monigatti clan have called a number in Québec City – the town where Robert Duvalier was studying!"

Ironside wasn't too surprised. "Do you know anything about the recipient?"

"He's a professor of..."

The second phone in Ironside's office rang. Ed answered it.

Eve started again, "He's a professor of 'Université Laval'... Robert Duvalier's university."

Ironside's mind was racing. Was this professor involved in Robert's abduction or...

"Chief!" shouted Ed loud enough for Ironside to hear it through the other phone, "Mario Monigatti just left his house with two suitcases! One of our officers is following him. He's taken a taxi. They are driving towards the airport!"

"He might do a bunk! Follow him _now_!"

* * *

Ed didn't care much about speed limits. Eve didn't have the time to be scared though. She radioed headquarters, only to learn that the officer shadowing Monigatti had already lost him. Quickly Ed decided that they would follow their hunch and drive on to the airport. Eve kept in touch with headquarters, hoping for any news, but there was none, since by now most of the colleagues had called it a day and left.

"Where to?" asked Eve when they entered the airport building.

Ed squeezed his eyes and read the takeoff display panel. "Quebec City!"

It was their best bet.

The panel said that people were boarding for the last flight to Quebec.

Ed was the faster runner. He reached the check-in as the last passengers went through. He tried to convince a member of the airport police to help him.

Meanwhile Eve caught up with him. She spotted Mario Monigatti first. He was still standing in the line of people boarding the plane.

"We can't arrest a passenger just because you suspect him of a crime!" argued the airport policeman.

"There's no time for discu..." answered Ed, but then he stopped. What was his colleague doing?!

She was approaching Monigatti, almost bumping into him. Then she turned around and shouted, "Help! My purse has been stolen!"

Confused everyone stared at her. The airport police officer hurried over. "Ma'am, please, calm down. What happened?"

He wasn't to know that the beautiful blonde was a co-worker of his as well. He was just eager to do his job – and if he could at the same time please a pretty girl he would not mind.

"I think it was this man!" Eve said accusingly and pointed at Monigatti.

"That's bullshit!" objected Monigatti. "Why should I..."

"Let me see the content of your pockets, Sir!" ordered the policeman assiduously.

And sure enough he found in Monigatti's coat pocket a lady's purse.

"That's mine!" exclaimed Eve. Swiftly she opened the purse and pulledout a driving license – not her badge.

The photo was enough to convince the serious policeman. "Please follow me, Sir!" he said sternly.

If looks could kill Eve would have died immediately, but she didn't care. The policeman took Monigatti's right arm, Ed his left one, and they led him away from the crowd who was far more interested in getting to Quebec City than in the little crime story they had just witnessed.

* * *

After all the paperwork was done – this time it could not be avoided - Ed took Mario Monigatti to the hospital. Ironside wanted to question him personally.

"Chief Ironside! My arrest is bullshit! You know as well as I do that I wouldn't steal a trashy purse!"

"It was an expensive Chanel purse," objected Ironside, "but you are under arrest for the murder of Robert Duvalier."

"That's bullshit!" This seemed to be his standard sentence to deny something. "That kid is as alive as you and me!"

"Now that's interesting. What would you know about Robert Duvalier? Have you abducted him?"

"That's bu... No, that rat didn't need any abducting. He left the university of his own free will. He got well paid for his services. Don't you know that he's with the separatists? He needed the money to support his hobby, I suppose."

"And you expect me to believe you?!" shouted Ironside.

Monigatti looked almost intimidated. He pointed at Ed. "I can prove it! Your boy has my note book. There I have the phone number where you can reach him."

Ed gave it to him and he showed Ironside the phone number in question. It was the same number Eve had found out – the Canadian university professor's.

"So that professor is a separatist himself?"

"I don't know. That's none of my business."

"And what _is_ your business with him?"

Monigatti realized that he had been trapped. "I won't say another word without my lawyer!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Epilogue**

He didn't need to. A house search brought a first result: in Monigatti's cellar the police found the stolen drugs from narcotics.

Luigi Accola, Mario Monigatti's bodyguard, secretary and factotum with the missing finger, got cold feet and started to sing.

He knew the professor in Canada. He was an old friend of Monigatti's, he said.  
He was no separatist. The drug trade was just a lucrative business for him. Same as Monigatti he used students to transport drugs to their destinations.

The colleagues in Canada were alerted. They arrested the professor - together with Robert Duvalier. The two men denounced each other.

Robert's motives were more idealistic. He still wanted to fight for the independence of the province of Quebec from the rest of Canada. That was what he needed the drug money for. But crimes remained crimes. Robert Duvalier was definitely a culprit, not a victim.

* * *

"Robert, don't you understand – I was pressured into doing all this! What would you have done in my place? These are criminals, murderers – I never knew what they would do to my child if I would not comply!" Jeanine tried hard to keep back her tears. She knew that she could not impress Ironside with them anymore.

Ironside had released himself from the hospital just that morning.

He didn't answer. He was deeply disappointed. It was the same situation as twenty years ago, when she hadn't told him about expecting a different man's baby. He could have lived with it, then and now. But he could not live with a woman who lied to him because she didn't trust his ability to help her.

 _You told a lie out of pride and I accepted it without question._ He didn't want to repeat his earlier answer. There was not enough of a basis between them for a serious relationship. He'd rather live without love than with a woman who had no trust in him.

"Can't you forgive me, Robert?"

"Yes, Jeanine, I forgive you. But there's no future for us. Go back to Canada. Your son needs you, now more than ever. There's your and his future."

Through the closed door he heard his young friends' laughter in the hallway, and then the door opened. It reminded him that he didn't have to live without love. It might be a different kind of love they gave him. But they trusted him with their lives, and they were ready to put theirs in the line for him. He wasn't alone. They were his family.

* * *

 ** _Author's note:_**

 _Once more Lemonpig took it upon her to deal with tons of mistakes, stubbornness and deadline pressure. Thank you, my dear beta!_

 _And to those of you who fought to the "bitter end" of this story – thank you as well!_

 _It's great to be part of this special community of writers and readers._


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